Another Road (Whichever Way We Go)
by EquusGold
Summary: "I had to make a choice. I could only save one. And as I ran towards Azog the Defiler and the struggling prince the only thought in my mind was 'He has a brother too.'" – The story of how the presence of one, changed the fate of many. BOTFA onwards.
1. Summary

**Another Road (Whichever Way We Go)**

"I had to make a choice. I could only save one. And as I ran towards Azog the Defiler and the struggling prince the only thought in my mind was 'He has a brother too.'" – The story of how the presence of one, changed the fate of many. BOTFA onwards.

**~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~**

**Welcome to ladies, gents and beings of unknown origins! **

**Another Road (Whichever Way We Go) will be jumping straight into the nitty-gritty of the Battle of Five Armies and continuing on from there, showing just how much the presence of one can change the fate of so many.**

**This is an alternate universe to my other story though incorporating the same OC (Khayl) as she would be if she was born and raised a dwarf in Middle Earth. For those that have read, enjoyed or disliked my other story, this one is going to be ****_very _****different. The standard of writing will, hopefully, be higher and I won't be including the Bond between the two main characters.**

**The only relations between this story and the other are the main pairing and my OC. Nothing else relates!**

**Genre/s: Family, Romance**

**Characters: Fíli, Kíli, OC (multiple)**

**Time period: BOTFA and beyond**

**Length: What is an ****_ending? _****Honestly, I have no idea how long this could go for...**

**Rating: T**

**If it pleases you, leave a comment detailing your interest. Also, are there any opinions on my summary? I truly am always agonising over those things.**

**I made a mistake in deleting this first summary thing earlier and now realise if I don't put it back in I won't get to hear about my latest chapter, so I'm putting this back at the start. Sorry guys.**


	2. Clouds of War

**Apologies for the odd first chapter. I just want to establish characters and events etcetera. Now, onwards!**

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I hate war. The stench and the clamour, the unrelenting chaos as dwarf struggled against orc. Elves fired arrows into the fray from afar and danced about like they were at a celebration or some such nonsense. The men have long since fled our battlefield, returning to Dale which was so ruined that it was utterly indefensible.

Yes, war is likely the thing I hate most about our world, especially this war.

I hated the way the tales and the history books portrayed these kinds of battles, as though they were heroic and each step taken by a warrior was carefully calculated by some valiant figure like Lord Dain. In truth, Lord Dain was scrambling around the middle of this chaos just like everyone else, with no idea of what was going on.

So yes, battle was nothing like what we were told as children. It was like watching two immense storm clouds collide. Everything got extremely loud and tumultuous and all the little rain drops are thrown down by the angry, overbearing rain clouds with no idea what they're supposed to be doing. They just smash into each other and get really confused about what's going on. Then they just keep obliterating all the other rain drops. Mindless. Endless.

That probably didn't make any sense at all, did it? But I suppose that about summed up battle in general. It's messy, chaotic and totally stupid.

So stupid, in fact. That I'm running pell-mell up the side of a mountain and hoping that I can reach the stupid king and his stupid heirs before they all got themselves stupidly killed. Stupid, stupid, stupid! And I was only running up the freaking mountain because I'd been _ordered _to, of course.

"This is so pointless," my brother gasped from beside me. I turned my head and cracked a grin at his bright red cheeks, at the sweat pouring off his face and at his evident struggle. "We're never going to reach them-" here he paused for an immense drag of breath. "-in time."

"Ever the optimist, aren't you Kier?" Mimf barked a laugh from behind before realising that she probably needed that air and choking as she tried to get it back.

"Realist," Kier gasped back. I know he is right despite wanting him to be wrong out of principle. Even if we do reach the others in time, we would likely be too exhausted to be of any use whatsoever in a fight. None of us were actually sure how the king and his heirs managed to get up Raven Hill so quickly. Dain sent us after them right after they left. I mean, maybe they were damn fit from crossing the entire map from west to east, but I doubt they were that bloody fit.

Well, at least I wasn't struggling as much as some of my companions. Halr looked like he was gradually turning purple. I turned to Kier and grinned with what little energy I could spare. My brother, my tough-as-iron older brother who had always been stronger, tougher and just generally _better _than me, looked to be on the very cusp of passing out as he ran. And we weren't even half way.

"This is all Corrie's fault," I said, loud enough for my brother and the others to all hear. The others didn't know who Corrie was, but they would make sense –and humour- of it regardless.

"What are you accusing my wife of now?" Kier asked, scowling at me from beneath his open faced helmet. I laughed fleetingly at the disgruntled expression on his face before refocusing on my footing. His wife and I just could not get along and I never could resist an opportunity to antagonise the pair of them.

"It's all this good food she makes," I replied, my stomach roiling at the mere thought of one of Corrie's sweet cakes. I could stand her cooking about as much as I could stand the dwarrowdam herself. Which is to say not at all. Fortunately I had become remarkably skilled at avoiding Corrie whilst still getting a full dose of their amazing and adorable daughter. "I swear, these last few years you've become twice the dwarf you ever were brother!"

"And she doesn't mean in a metaphorical sense!" Skaan huffed with laughter and Kier insulted us both colourfully before we all got back to the issue at hand. Running.

Up a bloody mountain.

I would much rather be cutting up orcs into itty-bitty little pieces down below, standing shoulder to shoulder with my brethren, carving up the enemy and reminding them why they shouldn't mess with us dwarves.

Yeah, that just goes to show how much I really didn't want to be running up towards Raven Hill watchtower since I didn't actually want to be down there either. I've already told you how much I despise war and battle. I mean, Mahal's sake, I'm not even a soldier! I'm just a lowly crafter practicing my skill beside my brother under the careful tutelage of our father, the leather-smith. Prestigious, I know.

Oh, so now you're wondering why nobodies are fighting amidst Dain's famed grey army, aren't you? Well that's because Dain's actual army is still back in the Iron Hills, cleaning out bandits from the nearby locality. Just about every dwarf here is part of the reserve.

When Thorin Oakenshield's plea for help came through Dain had no time to recall the bulk of his forces so all of us who had some skill at fighting but weren't technically soldiers were called forward to take up the famed grey armour of the Iron Hills and march to a war none of us were ready for. In truth we were only expecting to have to scare off some humans and a few elves, nothing too strenuous. All Dain needed was a show of force and when we were all lined up in ranks and scowling, you couldn't tell the difference between us and the veterans. Well, there was that one person in the third row, seventh column that kept dropping his spear but we surreptitiously … _disposed_ of him.

So now Dain was trying to defend his cousin and the ancient halls of Erebor with an army that was one quarter professional soldiers and half recruits. The final portion was made up of us. The rabble. Those who _could _fight to defend themselves and their kin, but had never done so in rank and file. I doubted most of us had ever fought in a proper battle. I know I hadn't, and my brother hadn't either.

So that _could_ be the possible reason why we were doing so badly.

"What's that?" Mimf's unmistakable, higher-pitched voice sounded loudly from just behind me. I flicked my head up and instantly saw what she was talking about. Not that I could miss it, not really.

It was a wooden structure, looking rather dilapidated after over two decades of neglect, which started within a small stone building. The building was resting right on the narrow path we were climbing. From the building a frame network made its way up the cliff face to the base of the main watchtower on Raven Hill above us. There was a large platform there and I imagined there would be a door leading inside the tower.

"What is it?" Halr asked again and I grinned. I knew what it was. I had seen one before.

"It's a lift!"I cried. "They must've built it so that there was no need to travel all the way around the hill to deliver supplies and the like. Lazy buggers." I added.

"Those were your ancestors," I heard my brother mutter and he was duly ignored as Halr asked:

"The path ends on the opposite side of Raven Hill, doesn't it?" My brother confirmed this with a solid nod of his head.

"Which means if we used that lift-"

"We would be behind the orc's main defences," I finished my brother's statement with a broad smile on my face. "They would be caught on two fronts and we wouldn't have to run so damn far."

"Definitely your ancestors," my brother grumbled, rolling his eyes. Skaan shot him a confused glance.

"I doubt it will be that simple," Halr grumbled, practically wringing sweat out of his immense brown beard. "I mean, it _can't_ be that easy. The orcs wouldn't just leave it open and nice, knowing we could just go up and walk straight on in through their back door."

"No, they wouldn't," I acquiesced. "This type of lift is an ancient construct, though very rare nowadays as most of the old kingdoms have been lost to us. They were probably used in Moria way back, so I don't doubt that the orcs know what it does and how it works, or at least how to disable it."

"That's not necessarily a good thing," Kier raised his eyebrows at me. "So why are you smiling?"

"Because, dear, ignorant brother, this contraption could serve as an escape route or a means of reinforcements." I was excited now, and totally missed my brother shooting rude gestures at me for calling him ignorant. This could work, it _had _to. The others were all beginning to look at me like I was utterly mad, but I didn't care. I knew I was onto something. Something the rest of them had missed. "So they wouldn't have destroyed the lift!"

"I don't think that they've conveniently just left this amazing opening for us Khayl," my brother said in an almost patronising kind of way, shaking his head. I rolled my eyes; I hated when he talked like that, as though being the elder actually meant something. Why could he not just listen for two seconds? Was it some kind of strange male prerogative that they just expected you to spell every little thing out to them?

"They would have sabotaged it," Mimf said in no small degree of wonder. Mahal be praised for sending another female along with me! "But in such a way that it could be fixed from either end."

"And the only thing I can think of is that they hid the pegs," Okay, so there was a fair chance that I was about to embarrass myself really, really badly by making that gigantic assumption but my mouth had a bad habit of saying things that I didn't really intend to say in the first place. However I had seen one of these amazing contraptions before whilst hunting beyond my usual boundaries. It had been on top of a narrow shaft that went directly down into the stony earth, the lift allowing access straight into the mine that lay well below the surface without the need for miles and miles of ladders. I had studied the mechanisms carefully, even attempting a little research back home when I could find the time. Whoever had worked and then abandoned the mine had removed the pegs from the turntable so that it couldn't be operated. Of course, they'd also removed cogs and cut chains to render the construct useless, but those were fairly permanent solves.

We entered the dimly lit building cautiously, weapons bared and searching the corners, though fortunately it was empty. Just as I had said, the turntable in the centre of the room had the pegs used for pushing it around removed. They were most likely hidden somewhere in the shack, above dwarf eye-height. (Dwarves were, admittedly, the only ones stupid or valiant enough to go chasing after the leader of the orcs.)

"I was right," I said smugly, earning a smack on the back of my head from my brother. "The pegs are gone."

Halr groaned from behind me.

"Fantastic," Skaan muttered. I glanced at him curiously as he grumbled to himself, searching beneath benches and furniture. In the half hour or so that I had known Skaan, I had taken the dark-haired dwarf for being quite the joker and a bit of an eternal optimist.

"We can improvise," I said loudly, clapping my gloved hands together in order to get the rest of our rag-tag, plucked-from-nowhere team focused on me. I took a moment to take in each of their faces. All of us lived in the Iron Hills and yet none of us had met before this day (save my brother and I of course!). What kind of insular society did we live in within our mountains that we can spend out entire lives within spitting distance of each other and never meet?

"With what?" Kier asked in exasperation. He knew I was off on some peculiar, ill-thought out scheme and that his life would go easier for him if he just listened to me, rather than bickering. We had a strange relationship like that.

"I've got this," Mimf said and I stared at her in bewilderment. She readied her massive axe and then swung it ferociously, all of us flinching at the racket she made as the poor, defenceless table in the corner shattered into a thousand splinters. And four rather sturdy legs. Mimf pulled out one of these legs and pressed it into one of the vacant holes in the turntable, turning and grinning at us when the makeshift 'peg' fitted almost perfectly. If it was kept pressed into the hole it would work like a charm.

"That was… pretty clever," I was forced to admit, still marginally struck dumb by Mimf's actions. The other dwarrowdam was way more intelligent and creative than I had thought to give her credit for.

"I'm flattered," Mimf responded dryly. "You can't be the only one with a few brain cells around here now, can you?"

I grinned at her and she smirked back at me before I said "One person should be able to get us all to the top."

The lift was dwarf craft. They were made to be able to lift maximum weight with minimum effort. Yep, we dwarves may be quite enterprising when we want to, but we were also pretty slack, or at least our ancestors were when they designed some of our greatest creations.

The five of us all shared a glance, no one wanting to be the one left behind, getting all the glory of operating the lift.

"I will do it," Mimf said after a long moment, astonishing me once again. She was just full of surprises this one. Mimf had only just passed all of her final tests, promoting her from recruit to soldier. In fact, she was the only _actual _soldier amongst our team. Halr was a baker and Skaan a stonemason. So Mimf was the last one of us that I expected to offer to remain behind.

Our astonishment must have shown on our faces for Mimf rolled her eyes and sighed, her narrow face displaying her irritation. I would have been pissed too, people having that much of a lack in faith in me.

"Look, if any orc tries to come through here, I'll deal with them. The rest of you are better off sticking together, watching each other's backs. I can watch out for myself." She paused a moment after her little tirade before grinning reassuringly at us. "Now go save our new king before he gets his stupid arse killed."

We all snorted briefly before Halr, Skaan and Kier filed past Mimf and into the lift. I hesitated for a moment. Mimf was the only other dwarrowdam brave –or stupid- enough to take up arms and march into this battle. She wanted to be the first ever dwarrowdam to be promoted to Captain of the Guard. I admired her. Also, we got along _really _well.

"Stay safe Mimf," I managed to say. We both grinned at how ridiculous that was to say in the middle of a battle.

"Kill many orcs, sister," Mimf replied and I felt a broad smile cross my face. To acknowledge one who wasn't of your blood as 'brother' or 'sister' was a great honour indeed.

"And you, sister," I touched her shoulder briefly before stepping back into the lift and closing the gate, effectively separating us from her. Kier nudged me in the side as the lift jerkily began to ascend with astonishing swiftness. We were all looking determinedly at the cliff face, not even daring the glance at the open air that whistled past or at the hard ground that loomed below.

"She's been your sister for all of about two seconds and already you prefer her," Kier grumbled to me moodily, but with a hint of playfulness in his eyes. I smiled reassuringly at him and patted the bulging bicep that I knew was hidden beneath the heavy layers of his armour.

"Worry not brother, you are not so hard to out-do," I smirked as Skaan and Halr chuckled. Kier glared for a moment before grinning maniacally and grabbing me in a headlock, tucking me under his sweaty, stinky pit, ruffling my hair. I bemoaned the loss of my helmet early in the fighting as he did so. It was rank.

I punched his ribs several times and elbowed him vigorously, only succeeding in bruising myself whilst he and our companions cackled maniacally as I growled and swore and cursed though I truly meant none of it. I knew what my brother was doing and went along with it willingly. This kind of comic relief was important in any part of a fight to restore moral. Our father, who had once been a great warrior, had taught us these things as well as teaching us to fight. I was grateful.

Kier released me and I took the opportunity to smack him one last time. Then we stood in companionable silence, the small grins on our faces refusing to fade until we were above half way. My brother and I leaned on one another, shoulder against shoulder, as we had always done when we felt especially close.

I glanced up at the rapidly approaching door and took a deep breath to steady my mounting nerves. We were about to face the orc commander's captains, the best of the best. The mere thought filled me with dread. The chance that we didn't make it out of there was scarily high. And on top of _that _pressure we still had to find the king and keep him safe. The impossibility of it all made me want to weep. I just wasn't really cut out for this kind of thing.

"_Nadad," _I breathed and Kier glanced up from examining his sword to meet my gaze. Wordlessly he reached out and drew me into him, pressing our foreheads together with all the tenderness in the world, despite the awkwardness of him wearing a helmet and me not. But hey, it's the thought that counts.

"Love you _nadad," _I said softly and Kier smiled gently at me from beneath his rust-coloured beard. He stepped back at the same moment I did and we both readied ourselves for we were drawing near now.

"I love you too, little fox," he grinned as he used our father's name for me and I rolled my eyes.

"We're here," Halr noted unnecessarily for we all felt the jolt as the lift stopped at the platform and we all saw the door appear in front of us. I imagined Mimf down below, sweating, cursing and very much alone and felt guilty even though it had been her choice. I wished she were here with us.

Kier pulled open the lift door and Skaan attempted to push open the tower door. The heavy wood refused to budge even an inch. There was no way to open it from our side.

"Great, now what?" Halr grumped and I scowled at him before stepping up and knocking politely on the door. The others stared at me disbelievingly whilst I moved to one side of the doorway, drawing my sword from the scabbard at my side and twirling my hatchet in my left hand.

"What are you doing?" My brother hissed, looking anxiously at the door. "How stupid do you think orcs actually _are?" _

"Pretty stupid," I replied smugly as there was the rattle of keys in the door and it swung open towards us. I could only imagine that the orc's disbelieving expression matched the ones on the faces of my brother and our companions. The moment of surprise stretched on briefly before Kier swung the door into the orcs face. The door hit him with a resounding crack and swung back towards us whereupon we charged through.

I took the momentary advantage of surprise and ferocity and launched myself at the nearest orc, getting my first real look at one of the orc commander's elite soldiers.

I plunged my sword straight into the belly of the orc, using my hatchet to swipe away the laxly gripped axe which skittered away across the stone floor. The orc, an enormous, hulking specimen, snarled and stumbled back, dropping to its knees. I yanked my sword free and took his head.

Kier, Skaan and Halr had been right on my tail, plunging into the fray with a cacophony of yells. The orcs were stunned, seemingly unable to comprehend what was going on. They had thought themselves safe, sitting up here cosily in their tower.

Kier threw himself at the two orcs who were sitting quite civilly at a small table and Halr grappled with another, whilst Skaan swung a chair a weedy looking fellow. The fifth orc was the one struck by the door, and he was already off and running for the exit. I pulled back my arm and used all the skills that my father had honed in me to launch the weapon. The hatchet turned end over end until its keen head burrowed itself between the creature's disfigured shoulder blades. The orc slumped against the door and I raced up to him, grabbing the handle of my hatchet and pulling, the creature rearing back in agony. I ran the keen edge of my sword across its throat and wrenched the hatchet free with a squelch.

I stepped away in time to stop his black blood from coating my boots and to see Halr grab his orc by its twisted belt and a portion of its chest armour. He tossed the creature – like, he literally _threw _an orc that was twice his size – and the shrieking beast went out the open door, through the back of the apparently flimsy lift and into the open air beyond. It screamed and screamed and then there was nothing.

I had a fleeting thought that perhaps it might land on Mimf and then smiled wryly to myself. Hardly the glorious end one might envision.

"I think we're terrible at 'the element of _surprise,'" _Skaan said with a grin of admiration for Halr who dusted his hands off quite casually with a smug look on his face. Skaan's own orc had its head caved in with its own mace and Kier was placidly leaning against one of the chairs his orcs had previously occupied. He wiped the blood and gore off of his blade on the edge of the seat before standing tall and rolling his shoulders.

"Shall we?" Kier said, stepping to the door and opening it. He held it, waving me through with a bow and a cheeky grin. "My lady," he said.

"How gallant of you," I replied, sarcasm lacing my words as he smirked at me. This banter was good; it normalised what was happening, making it bearable. We were siblings; we were not meant to take each other seriously. When the sun rose and fell with Kier and I getting along the whole while it would mark the end of all things.

I did, however, feel infinitely safer as he moved in behind me, watching my back as he had always done. My brother may be the obstinate, hot-headed fool of our duo - not to say that I wasn't too far behind on these accounts- but I was always the first to jump into trouble and the last to be dragged out. Kier was too easy-going for that. It probably helped that he had a hide thicker than a troll's.

We moved quickly through the narrow stone halls, Halr providing the rear guard for us. The tension inside that watch tower was so thick you could've cut it with a soup ladle. They knew we were here by now. They had to know. We had caused quite the raucous down below.

Their awareness of our presence became less a speculation and more a known fact when we moved out of the lower levels and into what must have been the main hall. The doors all along the hall were open and orcs sprang from them, shutting them tight before running at us and attacking on all sides. Our only way out was back until one of the orcs managed to get past us and slam the door behind us closed. We were trapped.

There were five of them, all very heavily armoured and with weapons forged from iron and steel, not the twisted catastrophes that their kind usually wielded.

One of them was an archer and I went straight for him, knowing that it would be of the greatest help. If we were pinned down the solitary archer could take us all out very quickly indeed.

I cursed as he moved backwards, remaining out of the range of my blade. He had an entire hallway at his back and could just keep pinging arrows at me until my luck ran out. There was just no way I could get close enough to use my sword unless one of his legs decided to spontaneously pop off, which, sadly, didn't look altogether likely. And he was cunning this one, he had seen my hatchet, held low in my hand and ready to throw at the slightest opportunity. He stayed well back, too far for me to have any chance of throwing it. It was too heavy.

I stopped in the middle of the hall, breathing sharply through my nose and wincing as an arrow hit my chest plate and ricocheted down the hall. I stowed my hatchet back at my belt and drew forth a knife from the dual sheaths at my lower back. I swear I saw the orc's eyes narrow beneath his closed-visored helm.

I threw the knife with all the strength of my arm and hoped for the best. The two knives I carried were designed for parrying and close-quarters fighting but could still be thrown if you knew how to work their balance into you favour. Just not with any great amount of accuracy. I cursed as the knife skimmed over the orc's pauldron, the throw gone awry. The arrow that he had been about to release hit the flat of my low-slung sword, flicking up and raking a shallow cut across my hip.

I cursed again, more vehemently as pain sparked through my hip and threw the other knife. The orc saw my movement, the accuracy of the throw and spooked, flapping an arm in front of his chest. My shot, which had been true this time, was forced downwards by a lucky wave of his arm, plunging into the orc's thigh, just above the knee. If only my mother could have heard my curses then! I would not have had to concern myself with orcs trying to kill me.

I ran towards the creature with a yell and sword drawn high, reaching him just as he pulled the knife from his leg and flung my blade somewhere over his shoulder with a snarl of pain. Oh how he regretted that but a moment later when my sword arced around and cleaved his head from his shoulders.

I turned quickly, surveying the final stages of the fight between the others and began to examine the dark shadows of the hall for any glimmer of my knives.

"Khayl!" my brother called desperately. I whirled around spasmodically, my veins still burning with adrenalin. My brother was gesturing madly for my immediate presence and I forced myself to abandon my knives knowing that there just wasn't enough time. Already the tramp of many armoured feet pounded towards us. I ran towards Kier and our companions, Skaan sporting a nasty slash across the length of his right cheekbone and Halr flexing his right wrist uncomfortably.

"They're coming from both ways!" Skaan called anxiously, looking to Kier who was undoubtedly the rock in our stormy ocean. Halr shifted nervously and I felt a series of jitters run through my body_. Calm, calm, calm,_ I chanted to myself.

"Where do we go?" I asked. We couldn't go down as we had no signal to give Mimf and we couldn't stay on this floor as we were about to be overrun by beasties.

"Up, of course!" Kier replied before running to the nearest door and flinging it open, revealing a narrow flight of circular stairs. I would have had to laugh if it had of been a kitchen or something.

"Convenient," I grunted as we surged forward, running upwards and around and around in a circle. I thought I might hate running by this point, but the burn in my legs and my chest was familiar, reminiscent of a childhood that I would always look back on rather fondly.

"Good fortune," my brother offered instead, preferring to think on the brighter side of things. But I could see the fear in his eyes. We had hunted in the wilderness together enough times to know exactly what was going on.

We were being boxed in.

**~()~()~()~**

**Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. If so, I would appreciate hearing your thoughts. **

**Also, thank you ever so much to Dalonega Noquisi, Celebrisilweth, OFBLOODANDROSES, Sneaky Turtle, Knowing Grace and kimberlybluebelle for expressing your interest. **


	3. Impending Doom

**Another Road**

**(2)**

**Apologies for the wait. I want to get a chapter perfect before I post. On that note, please let me know if you see any errors that have slipped under my radar.**

**My sincerest thanks to luvgirl101, Dalonega Noquisi, kimberlybluebelle and kkolmakov for being so fantastic and reviewing! **

** The first five paragraphs or so can be read to Evenstar by Howard Shore. Try Nickelback's Burn it to The Ground for the fight on the watchtower. They have no relevance. They just sound nice.**

* * *

We said nothing to the others. There was no worse way to head to your impending doom than to know that you _were _heading to your impending doom. They were scared enough already; there was no need to push them to the point of panic.

My brother continued to lead the way; I was behind him by just a step and Skaan behind me, so close that he was practically breathing down my neck. Well, if he were that tall. Halr, as ever, brought up the rear, keeping one eye on us and the other on the threat that continued to pursue us from below.

I didn't mean to do it. It was something I hadn't done since our sister had died. I had been very young then, and frightened. My favourite person in the whole world had just left me. I did the same thing then that I did as I was running up those stairs. I reached out and grasped my brother's free hand, gripping it firmly in mine.

He squeezed back gently, reassuringly, and we continued running upwards, me just a single step below my big brother, my idol now for so long. I could feel the warmth of his hand even through our thick arming gloves. I imagined that I could feel his heartbeat resonating up through my fingertips, steady, strong, unfaltering, even though I knew it would likely be just as frantic and unsteady as my own.

It may sound selfish, but if we were to meet our ends at the top of that tower, if we had to die that day, I wished to be the first to go. I don't think I could bear seeing my brother's body mangled and butchered, his blue-green eyes, normally so bright and full of life, glazed over and empty, as though the lanterns in his soul had been extinguished. I had seen enough dead bodies, both sentient and not, to be able to envisage his cold, still corpse with horrifying clarity. Even if we would meet again in the life beyond this one, that was not an image I wished to carry with me. The image of my red-faced, sweating, wheezing and cursing brother holding my hand tight like a lifeline? Yeah, that would be a good way to remember him.

I glanced over the edge of the stairwell and gulped, but not because of the drop –which was considerable – but because there were a number of hulking figures following us upwards. Well, I say hulking figures, but I could really only hear the heavy tramping of their feet and the constant stream of Black Speech that floated up to us. I could occasionally see a spearhead or an elbow swing out from the edge of the stairwell below, but could see little else.

We hastened our pace even further, not that the orcs below seemed to be in a chasing mood. Instead they steadily trudged upwards, content on cornering us when we had nowhere else to go. Well, that wouldn't take remarkably long since we _were _running for the top of a tower.

Okay, I've made it sound like Raven Hill watchtower was some really colossal, sky-high structure, but it really wasn't. We would have ascended about the equivalent of four or five flights of stairs before we ran out of places to run to. There was a massive wooden door right smack-bang in front of us and it was already open. We raced through it without hesitation and Skaan slammed it shut whilst Halr grabbed a nearby piece of rubble and, using a strength supposedly born of throwing sacks of flour about, heaved it in front of the door.

I was only dimly aware of this happening in the very edge of my peripheral. The entirety of the forefront of my attention was taken up by the gargantuan orc that faced us. My brother, rooted to the spot beside me, breathed out only two words.

"The Defiler…"

Skaan and Halr had frozen too, and were standing, transfixed by the scalding glare the immense, alabaster orc sent sweeping over the four of us. He seemed, dare I say it, mildly surprised and more than a little irritated. Peeved, I would say. I took it that we weren't the ones he was expecting.

I found great difficulty in breathing. We all knew the stories of the Defiler, Azog, of what he did to King Thror and how he was unstoppable even by the finest warriors that all of the dwarven kingdoms combined could offer. We all knew the stories of how Thorin Oakenshield defeated him and earned his name, of how our new King had severed the Pale Orc's forearm. Of how he was said to have died. Only, he didn't look very dead. I just couldn't believe it was him.

And yet it was. The jagged blade that replaced his left forearm was testament to that fact.

The huge orc made a deft movement with his great, scarred head and we all of a sudden found the keen points of weapons that defied any and all description levelled at our throats, backs, chests, heads. Pretty much anywhere that would really, _really hurt. _Our weapons were torn from our hands and carelessly thrown to the stone floor.

I glowered, and from the corner of my eye I could see the hatred splashed across Kier's face in equal measure. This monster killed our great-grandsire, butchered him like a beast. It may have been before our time, but this monster had caused our family pain. That was unforgivable.

Once it was fairly obvious that we weren't going anywhere Azog surged forward and grasped Skaan by the throat with his single hand. He pulled him from our thin ranks and held him aloft. Skaan's legs kicked uselessly and he battered at the Pale Orc's arm but it was to no avail. The spawn of darkness was too strong. We could do nothing to assist our comrade and were forced to stand in livid silence as he tortured the smallest of us.

"Where are the others?" the orc growled, or at least I think that was what he said. His common was so broken, stilted and accented that it could have been 'Did you bring any flowers?' Although, I sincerely doubt it was that.

As though someone had choreographed it perfectly, the door behind us slammed open with a resounding bang, the enormous rock Halr had placed there proving magnificently ineffective against the orc that strode out without a care in the world.

He was as big, if not bigger than, Azog and studded all over with metal. One of his eyes was a pale, sightless orb that roved restlessly. He had the same ghostly luminescence as The Defiler.

Didn't anyone ever tell those orcs not to eat strange, glowing mushrooms? Or perhaps it was more a case of 'if you can eat the obviously inedible fungi so can I, 'cause I'm twice the orc you are.' I mean, _really, _how many more gigantic, weirdly-coloured orcs were going to pop out of nowhere? I guess we weren't allowed to call Azog _the _Pale Orc any longer.

I could feel my mind going into overdrive as I began to panic, so much so that I almost missed the prisoner that was dragged in behind the pale doppelganger and dropped in front of us, his weapons thrown an insultingly short distance from him.

He was a dwarf –as I said previously, only dwarves are brave or stupid enough to go into the orc headquarters. It seemed that stupidity abounded amongst our race – he was perhaps blonde under all the dirt and blood and he was, dare I say it, quite good looking. He had aristocratic features and a very neat beard and moustache, despite having been in the midst of battle. Those were some good braiding hands – er, his armour, bloodied but fitting very nicely, emphasised his broad shoul- ahem, er, his armour was not the uniform grey of the Iron Hills army. Rather, it was positively antique in design with gaudy, golden decoration and the sigil of the house of –

Aw, Mahal, why did all the good-looking warrior-types have to be so darn unavailable? As well as on death row? I mean, he didn't look much of a noble on his knees in front of thirty-odd orcs, but clean him up a little and you'd suddenly one of the Princes of Durin's line!

Who, thanks to extenuating circumstances, was probably about to be summarily executed. Yup, we'd done a stellar job with our rescue mission.

Azog was barking orders in that Valar-forsaken tongue of evil and I took that moment to lean towards the prince slightly and say in an undertone:

"Having a bad day, are we?" The prince glanced up at me, his brows raised incredulously. Then a miniscule, humourless smile touched his lips.

"You could say that," he replied quietly as a large portion of the resident orc infestation, including Pale Orc numero duo, left the top of the tower. "Why're you here?"

"Lord Dain-" was all I got out before a massive hand engulfed my skull. Azog yanked, I felt my neck wrench and then my feet left the ground. I flew momentarily then there was nothingness as my body slammed into a wall. I think it was the dilapidated condition of the tower that saved my life or at least spared me from a crushed skeleton. The hardness of Khuzd skulls no doubt played a vital role in preventing a shattered brain box. The stone resisted the force of my body crashing into it for only a moment before the mortar crumbled and I fell outwards.

I was completely out of it, so much so that I was unable to even feel the hand that grasped my wrist or comprehend that utter chaos that descended around me. I learned later that it was my brother who had grabbed me and dragged me back into the tower, not that it was too much of a stretch of the imagination; he always did have excellent reflexes. Something that was, fortunately, genetic.

My awareness came back to me in little fizzes and spurts, generally accompanied by a dazzling round of pain. It was most likely only a second or two that I was out of it, but I had no accurate judgement of time. I only fully came back to it when an orc stepped backwards onto my sprawled leg. I reared upwards reflexively, screeching like mad. Dwarf bones are not made to break easily, so I was fortunate there. More fortunate than the stupid-ass orc that stepped on me. He leapt away from me, shrieked, tripped over the leg he had been standing on and sailed straight out the hole I had put in the side of the tower. Idiot.

I pulled myself into a sitting position and stared dazedly at the dead orc that flopped in front of me, his head practically in my lap. That was fine. Then his slitted yellow eye twitched. A strangled sound of fright and disgust leapt out of my throat and I grabbed for the nearest weapon. A rock found its way into my palm, which really only classifies as a weapon in the direst of scenarios. I brought the rock crashing down on his skull, once, twice and thrice just for good luck, mushing the disfigured face a whole lot more. Though it was, undoubtedly, a huge improvement in my opinion.

"Stop being so lazy!" my brother scolded me in passing, duelling against two orcs who hissed and spat like enraged cats. I shook the final vestiges of fogginess from my mind with sheer willpower upon hearing his words and surged upwards, flinging the rock and striking one of the orcs in the back of the head. Well, it was more like I was overzealous, stumbled and the rock flew from my hand but my brother's grateful smile told me that he appreciated it, so I took the credit regardless.

And nearly got my head taken off as someone kicked a sword – my sword. The 'shing' of metal against stone made my spine squirm. Then I was forced to duck as the weapon struck a loose stone and flicked up, flying over head. Literally, over my _head. _I threw myself after it, knowing I had to find myself a weapon before someone found me with one. I grasped the familiar hilt, the leather grip moulded to my hands after the countless hours I had spent training with it. An instant later I was back on my feet and looking for company that preferably wouldn't try to impale me.

Halr was by the door, keeping three orcs back single-handedly with immense sweeps of his axe which was nearly the same height as him. I rammed my sword through the lower spine of one of his opponents, the familiar sensation of bone grating on blade making my fingers tingle. Our father had relentlessly hammered it into us that unless we hacked through bone and structure we weren't ensuring a job well done. Battle wasn't like hunting. You couldn't leave your opponent bleeding; he'd get back on his feet eventually and kill you or your friends. A wounded bear is much more dangerous than a dead one.

Halr bellowed out a resounding war cry before he just about cleaved another of his opponents clean in two. He charged after the third one like a bull, knocking a fourth to the ground in time for Skaan to stomp on his neck. I duck and weave between ally and opponent, trying to find my footing in the chaos that continues to shift and change around me. It is always easier when you're in the fight from the beginning, not waking up halfway through it all.

The iron toe of my boot clunked against metal and I risked a fleeting glance down only to see my hatchet fly away from my foot. I cursed – that hatchet had been a gift from grandfather, passed down through the generations. My brother had the other half of the matching pair – and then the air went out of me as I was tackled to the ground.

You know how at the beginning of all this I mentioned that war was ugly, messy chaos? Well, that's the truth of it, and you should really be realising it by now. There wasn't a whole lot of effective fighting going on around me. It was mostly just everyone swinging wildly at someone and awkwardly bumping into someone else. Dare I say that everyone was hitting the dirt just as regularly as I was?

So that was perhaps why I was not so remarkably surprised to find that the orc that had tackled me had accidentally skewered himself upon my blade. It was one of the many macabre slip-ups that were known to happen on a disturbingly frequent basis on the battlefield. What was frustrating was that the orc was huge and clad in the ridiculously thick and yet astonishingly ineffective armour that these 'alpha' orcs seemed fond of. That made the very large orc very heavy, and very difficult to get off of me.

I managed to wriggle free with no small degree of difficulty and immediately threw myself back into the fray. I slashed at every piece of grey flesh that revealed itself to me, slipping and bumping amongst the towering figures of the orcs. I was fortunate in that aspect; I was quite tall for one of my kind and I suppose that would have made the whole situation slightly less daunting than it would have been to one of Skaan's size, say.

What wasn't so good about it was how I seemed to be ducking away from head-height blows every few moments, I reasoned as I threw myself away from another orc that seemed intent on hacking through my neck. I didn't appreciate his efforts at all. I mean, I _was _rather attached to my head. It and my shoulders were best buds.

I swore loudly – that seemed to be happening a lot, but let me tell you, I wasn't the only one. I learnt some colourful turns of phrase that day – as something tripped into me yet again. I whirled and managed to stay my blade at the last possible moment, the keen metal resting in a gap in Halr's armour, stopping myself from stabbing him clean through. I would have apologised but at that moment an orc lunged at us and the two of them went rolling across the floor, snarling and snapping, punching and head butting one another. Skaan tripped over their kicking legs and almost went down, managing to hold his feet and continue fending off the two angry orcs that bore down on him.

I engaged another orc myself and growled when one of his buddies came and joined the fun. Now, I wasn't exactly keeping count, but I was damn sure we were supposed to be running out of orcs by that point.

Halr had replaced his orc with two smaller ones and Skaan had killed one of his, leaving him with one more. Kier was in the middle of _everything _like a veritable whirlwind, seemingly trying to outdo the golden prince who ripped open every orc that came within any kind of distance of his dual blades. His movements were smooth, flowing from one to another without a beat of hesitation in between. I think that was the closest thing I had seen to grace on the battlefield. I just wanted to stop and watch and giggle like a little dwarfling while he trumped foe after foe. Savage though my brother was, he looked like he was fighting with arms made from lead beside the prince.

By all rights we should have been on the final stretch by now, partnering up to finish off the final beasties whilst compensating for injuries. But no, we were given no chance for respite, to regroup, to escape. Azog the Defiler still stood to one side and watched over the fighting with a curled lip, like we were only there for his savage pleasure.

The Defiler yelled something over the edge of the watchtower in Black Speech and I faintly heard a yelled response drift back up in common, though I could not make out the words. Whatever they were, they displeased the Pale Orc greatly, for he roared, bared his jagged, sharp teeth and swept into the fight at long last. I'd never felt as cold as I did then, when I realised how quickly that single orc turned the tide against us. It wasn't until we were losing that I realised how we had been winning.

He knocked down his own soldiers and Halr crumpled beneath a savage blow to the head. I felt detached, though I continued to fight my remaining foe. I could only watch as Azog reached out and grabbed the prince by the back of his armour and tossed him across the tower. He strode off after his crumpled form.

I brought my blade up to block a brutal strike from my own opponent, performing a twist that I had rehearsed a thousand and one times, sending his weapon skittering away and mine plunging into his corrupted black heart, the sternum cracking beneath the force of the strike. He stiffened, gurgled and dropped as I wrenched my blade free. Fatigue flooded my arms. I had always sparred among my own kind, had never realised how draining it would be to fight with my arms constantly over my head.

I turned in time to see the Defiler grab the prince – when did the two of them get so close to me? He grabbed him by the head, his enormous hand ensconcing that fair face. My own neck throbbed in sympathy as the orc lifted him. The prince's hands waved and battered frantically, devoid of any weapon. I could see a single, terrified eye from between the monster's brutish fingers. I curled my fist around the hilt of sword. I could do this. I would. I had promised my Lord I would save them.

My brother's anguished cry entered my ears and I felt numbness spread through me in a dizzying instant.

I had heard that sound many a time. I heard it when they laid my sister's battered and abused and very _dead _body before us; when he was slashed by that bear after we defied father for the first and only time; when a stray arrow of his pierced my leather coat, my skin and the lung beneath leading to a number of weeks with me at death's door. It was not a good sound, nor did it have any happy memories associated with it. It was the sound of pain and loss. It was the sound of fear.

An orc had my brother by the hair. He had lost his helmet somewhere in the fighting. The orc had him by the hair that was so close to the colour of mine and he was wrenching his head backwards, baring Kier's pale throat.

I wanted to yell, wanted to call out for my brother, for my _nadad, _but no sound would pass my lips. My own throat was constricted with horror.

I glanced back to where Azog gripped the defenceless prince and hopelessness flooded my veins as Azog drew back his bladed arm, ready to deliver a fatal stab. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a jagged blade appear over the vulnerable flesh of Kier's throat.

My hand ghosted over the empty sheaths that normally held my knives. But they were lost and I had only my sword.

I had to make a choice. I was so close to both yet they were so far apart. I knew I could only save one. Only one, and the other would be sentenced. By _my _hand. I would have killed them just as surely as the beast who wielded the blade.

And as I ran towards Azog the Defiler and the struggling, helpless prince the only though in my mind was;

_He has a brother too._

* * *

**So, if you've danced over here from Through Their Eyes you will know that I pretty much _rely _on you guys to be able to write. Every word of criticism, suggestion or stray passing comment is taken in, cherished and then locked up forever for me to act the fool over. I just, I don't know how to explain how much a review means *sniffles* it's just everything to me... (Self conscious writer this way, my friends! *waves*)**

**I want this work to be good, for you guys to enjoy. That's why my writing is going through 5 or 6 edits before ever touching this site. That's a lot of editing and a lot of hours, not including the time that I spend handwriting it all out first. Please appreciate and respect the time its taking to construct this story for you guys. **


	4. Falling For You

**Another Road (Whichever Way We Go)**

**Chapter 3: Falling For You**

**Author's Note: My sincerest apologies for being gone for so long. But on the bright side I just need to edit the next chapter plus I have written some on the next chapter of Through Their Eyes. I'm so sorry! I included a little of what happened previously to help you on your way :D**

**I want to thank katnor, luvgirl101, SherlockAvenger, kimberlybluebelle, Dalonega Noquisi and yorushihe for your lovely views. They make it all worth it. My dearest kimberlybluebelle, thank you for letting me know that it was okay to take some time off and get my bearings back. I needed it, I think, and I believe that my writing has come one marvellously since I last spoke with you.**

_~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~_

Previously

_I glanced back to where Azog gripped the defenceless prince and hopelessness flooded my veins as Azog drew back his bladed arm, ready to deliver a fatal stab. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a jagged blade appear over the vulnerable flesh of Kier's throat._

_My hand ghosted over the empty sheaths that normally held my knives. But they were lost and I had only my sword._

_I had to make a choice. I was so close to both yet they were so far apart. I knew I could only save one. Only one, and the other would be sentenced. By my hand. I would have killed them just as surely as the beast who wielded the blade._

_And as I ran towards Azog the Defiler and the struggling, helpless prince the only though in my mind was;_

_He has a brother too._

_~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~ _

Azog the Defiler was neither blind nor deaf. He therefore could not miss me charging at him with my sword held aloft and a battle cry on my lips. Perhaps not the stealthiest approach, but I was only halfway towards the prince and the orc when I realised the chance of me actually reaching them was slimming with each hairsbreadth of a second.

In my irrational, highly panicked mind I theorised that screaming your head off always seemed to get people's attention, regardless of whether you wanted it or not. Knowing my luck however, the one time I yelled like a fool to actually get someone's attention, it wouldn't actually work.

As soon as the Pale Orc turned his great, scarred head towards me I wished that my luck had continued to fail.

However that tiny portion of time when his menacing blue eyes shifted from his current target to me was all the hesitation I needed to cross that last little portion of distance. Azog's eyes widened as I threw myself at him with a snarl that would have made a rampaging badger proud. He dropped the prince on reflex and raised his artificial forearm to block the downward arc of my sword.

While he could stop my blade from cleaving his great, brutish skull, there was nothing he could do to stop my momentum. I bulled into him and he grabbed my upper arm in a vice-like grip. He shifted to one side and I got a spectacular view of the sheer drop off the side of the watchtower. Growing up and living my whole life in a mountain home filled with mines and meandering walkways across bottomless ravines, I had long since gained a reasonably good tolerance for heights. My tolerance did not extend to being swung towards the edge of a tower by someone who was going to drop me the first opportunity he got.

For that was exactly what that beast of an orc did. Rather than allow my momentum to carry me a little ways before I managed to turn myself about and rejoin the fight, Azog added his own forced and propelled me forward towards the sheer edge.

I realised what was going to happen the moment he shifted and grasped my arm; it was the logical sequence of events to follow my own actions. What the orc chieftain didn't count on was me grabbing a hand hold on the bracer of his single forearm. Years of crafting, sparring, shooting and climbing had given me a good grip and there was no way I was going and not taking this beast, the epitome of evil, with me.

My grip on Azog, who had already released me, tightened as I felt my momentum fight against his mass. The Defiler's powerful throw meant that momentum won out. He was yanked forward, tripping but managing to retain his feet. I fear he may never have fallen at all if not for the dazed prince who got to his hands and knees in an altogether convenient if not unfortunate place. Azog stumbled into prince's side, his legs getting cut out from underneath him, and over the side we went.

We were falling, falling, falling, the Beast, the Prince and Me.

~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~

Azog roared deafeningly like a wounded bear. He flailed his limbs and I had enough sense left in me to kick away form him, though not without his bladed arm ripping through the leathers I wore beneath my plates and slicing into shoulder. I yelped, still tumbling through the air. I caught a glimpse of the ground as I spun, all the colours and definition leeched out like a water-stained painting.

I screamed. What else did you actually expect me to do under those circumstances? There's not really a lot of things you _can _do to stop yourself from hurtling towards the ground when you're spiralling through open air. That's why I snapped my eyes shut too; I didn't want to see the hard stone that would break my body into a thousand itty-bitty squishy pieces.

The elders would say during funeral rites that one day we would all return to the stone from whence our people came. I never thought that I would be thinking back on those words in such a literal sense.

Looking back I sometimes like to think that it was my exceptional set of lungs that saved our lives, but I highly doubt that was the case, no matter how impressive my screaming may actually have been.

Did I stop screaming the moment something immense wrapped around one of my flailing legs and caused my trajectory to change? No, I most certainly did not! I had seen those huge damn bats that were flying around, tossing people through the air. My instinctive assumption then was that one of those ugly critters had snatched me out of the air for an easy meal.

I for one certainly wasn't going to take being eaten lying er… upside down.

I wrenched my eyes open, snapped my mouth shut and curled my body, fighting against the lack of flex the armour provided. I wriggled and glared at the yellow-scaled and heavily taloned foot that grasped my leg. Then realisation hit me and I could do little but wonder how hard I had hit my head earlier.

My first thought on seeing the being that had saved my life? '_That's a big chicken.'_

To be fair though, I _was _swinging around upside down as the thing flew, providing me with a rather unflattering view of its feathered behind.

"Mahal's beard!" I blurted out when the absurdity of it all hit me upside the head with all the force of a smithy's hammer.

"You are still alive," an impossibly deep voice stated without a hint of emotion as though it really didn't make any difference whether I was alive or not. The eagle cocked his head to stare back at me for moment so that I saw a single, immense golden-amber eye and a hooked beak that could likely have swallowed me whole. I resisted the urge to tell the bird to watch were he was flying.

"You could not notice from the terrible sound it was making?" a second voice barked, laughter evident in its tone. I whipped my head around to see a second eagle, lean with dark, tawny feathers coasting lazily beside us. The second eagle had his huge talons wrapped around the prince's torso, his head lolling in the confines of unconsciousness. I bit back a wave of jealousy, as ridiculous as it was; that looked so much more comfortable than being dragged backwards through the air by a single leg. Honestly, I felt as though my leg was going to tear off at the hip.

"Why am I upside down?" I yelled up to the eagle that was carrying me, the wind snatching at my words. A tremor ran through his body, once, twice, three times and then onwards. I realised after a brief moment of bewilderment and a jolt of terror at the thought that he was having a seizure of some sort and we were going to plummet to our deaths – I wasn't allowing myself a single moment to even consider exactly how high up we were –that the great eagle was laughing. At me. When he calmed sufficiently he spoke once more.

"You were squalling so loudly I thought perhaps you were a goblin."

"Gee, thanks," I replied dryly, not knowing if the eagle would be able to hear my sarcasm over the rush of the wind or not. I fought back the indignation that attempted to climb up my throat and leap out of my mouth in the form of scathing remarks and insults. It no longer escaped my notice that the eagle had hold of me in such a way that it would be incredibly easy for him to release me or even dash my body against the sheer side of the mountain. My mouth went dry at the mere thought.

"Look there!" Huh, apparently the prince was lucid once more. I glanced over at him and followed the direction of his pointing finger and intent gaze, nausea roiling in my belly from the motion of flying.

I squinted. The time spent upside down had caused a significant amount of blood to rush to my head. That, combined with the high altitude and the sheer distance over which I could potentially fall making it a little _difficult _for me to concentrate.

"Lord Dain?" I suggested as our eagles swooped high over the battlefield. I thought I recognised the style of fighting. As in big, angry and hammer-wielding. He was in the centre of a ring of Iron Hills grey armour, hemmed in on all sides by orc forces. I wished to be down there with them, fighting amongst my own but I could not. There was somewhere else I had to be.

"Thorin!" The prince identified the person at the centre of my issues though I myself could not see him. "Eagles! You must take me to him!"

Without a single word spoken between them, the two eagles adjusted their trajectories in tandem. I craned my neck and spine backwards and managed to see the base of Raven Hill but no more than that.

"Kíli!" The golden prince yelled, his voice full of fear. It was the same fear that had echoed through me the moment I had heard Kier cry out – no, don't think about Kier! Focus on the then and there. You made your decision. Live with it.

"What's going on!?" I called out frantically, unable to see what was happening that was causing such a stir. The eagles had hastened their pace considerably.

"Goblin scouts," was all my eagle hissed, his tone sending shivers all up and down my spine and making me doubly glad he had realised I was no goblin. The other eagle, the one I thought to be younger was more helpful.

"The dwarf king battles against many with few," Okay, so he wasn't much more helpful at all, but I could draw my own conclusions, chilling though they were.

"We must help them!" The prince demanded. I agreed wholeheartedly with him.

"Oh, we will," Was the sinister promise that echoed from the mouth of my carrier. I was getting the impression that my eagle was a very warlike bird. Not that I was complaining at all, for he had save my life most graciously.

I did, however, mind what he did next.

My eagle angled forward and furled his wings, tucking them close to his sides and causing us to dive towards the ground faster than anything had any reason to go. The wind whipped by, tearing my screams from my throat before they even had a chance to form. Before the howling wind rushed by too fast for me to pick up any sounds whatsoever, I had the fine opportunity to hear the prince yell out "No! Please don – aah!"

He sounded about as keen on flying as I was. That is to say that dwarves are meant to keep their feet firmly on or underneath the ground!

I wanted to shut my eyes like a frightened child as the ground hurtled by beneath my, drawing nearer with every passing second. But I did not and as a result the wind lashed my eyes, drawing tears from them that streaked back into my hairline and my fear grew with each shuddering pulse of my heart. Within moments we were close enough to the earth that I curled myself up around my ensnared leg, praying the eagle didn't misjudge and smear against the uneven, rocky terrain. Then the jutting rocks gave away to a courtyard and that was where the eagle dropped me.

The moment I first heard the screeches of goblins the eagle released its grip on my leg and I plummeted – for the third time that day – like a stone towards the back-breaking ground.

My shoulders hit the ground first with a horrible thud coupled with a grating sound and something that sounded suspiciously like a crack opening up in the back of my armour. After that my arse smashed into stone and then my feet touched down for a mere moment as I tumbled forward quite unglamorously.

"You alright?" I was asked as I stopped rolling, sliding a little more before just sprawling on my back. I may have muttered something in response but really I was too busy flipping to my knees and expelling the contents of my stomach on the icy ground. My hands scrabbled at a jutting stone as the world tilted epically around me.

It was perhaps the quickest vomit of my life for a goblin ran towards me without hesitation, shrieking with a curved knife held high. I pushed myself up and stumbled back, spitting and staggering as the world continued to flip on its axis. I readied myself for fist-to-face contact but it never got to that point. Instead the goblin slipped in my bile before there was a furious rush of air and he was gone. Quite literally _gone. _

Only to reappear but a moment later, its horrible, twisted little body slamming into a wall twenty paces away with a crunch that made my body shudder in sympathy. I flicked my eyes up in time to see the second eagle wheel about and plough through a group of goblins, talons extended like immense scythes.

Once again I was exceedingly grateful that my eagle had deduced that I was _not _a goblin. I had no interest whatsoever in being tossed through the air or shredded.

The eagle that had been carrying me, who I now saw was larger and darker in colour than his companion, dove into another congregation of goblins, grabbing three in one taloned foot and another in that savage, curved beak. His other foot stayed curled close to his body as it had been, I realised, the entire time he had been carrying me. I wondered if he was injured.

Injured or not, the eagle flung his enemies away with terrifying ferocity, bowling over half a dozen other who were fleeing with the remainder of their ilk. He alighted before us, his ear-splitting screech of triumph chasing the goblins as they fled over the broken walls, pushing and shoving and fighting amongst themselves in their haste to escape. He stood on one leg, the other still curved protectively beneath him, and fluffed his feathers in a self-satisfied manner, even as his wings were still held slightly aside from his body, the pose distinctly threatening.

Suffice it to say that I felt threatened.

Then the great eagle extended its curled foot towards me, allowing something long and shining to fall to the ground with a metallic clang. I stared, not at the object, but at the eagle.

"My sword! But-" There were many things that I wanted to ask but as I gave my mind the opportunity to catch up and even overtake my mouth the answers all became clear. He had caught my sword as I fell; realising he would need to set me down eventually and that I would be pretty much utterly defenceless without it. I wanted to ask if he had harmed himself whilst catching it, for the blade was sharp enough to shave with though it was certainly dulled after a day of fighting, but I didn't wish to offend my saviour. I had heard it said that the great eagles were proud creatures. Besides, with the way his foot remained tucked protectively beneath himself I thought that I had my answer.

"Thank you," I said simply to the eagle, grateful beyond measure.

The eagle merely inclined his head towards me, blinking his immense eyes once before ascending to join his brethren with a single mighty flap of his wings. Which, coincidentally, very nearly bowled me over.

"Fight on, my little friends!" the younger eagle cried out before also taking to the wing, his form diving off the side of Raven Hill to continue fighting the main orc forces below.

"Is everyone alright?" a gruff voice called out. I glanced to back to see four dwarves congregating with the sense of relief that on feels when their friends or kin have survived a near death experience. The golden prince, looking bedraggled but getting more bright eyed with each passing second, was roughly embraced by a young dwarf then but King Thorin who looked remarkably relieved to see his heir returned more or less intact.

I averted my eyes, feeling as though I was intruding on a private family moment. Common folk were not supposed to see royalty in emotional tatters. So I turned about and picked up my sword, spending an unnecessarily long period of time examining the blade for any recently applied defects but finding none, much to my relief.

"You save his life,"

Oh how I jumped! Most embarrassingly so! I wheeled about to face the king, remembering a moment too late to bow respectfully.

"Stop," he said swiftly, grasping my shoulders and pulling my upright. "You saved his life."

This he said again and I could finally hear the raw emotions that roiled within the timbre of his voice. The relief, relief so great as to nearly bring one chokingly to tears. I wished I was feeling that relief at that moment. That I was able to playfully cuff my brother 'round the ears for being a reckless fool, hug him, never let him out of my sight. I swallowed painfully passed the immense lump that clogged my throat. How was I supposed to explain to my parents, his wife, and his little daughter that I had made the decision to let him die?

"He is my prince, sire," I managed to get out, my voice absolutely hollow. The king frowned at the juxtaposition between the words and my tone, and whatever heartbroken look must have been evident on my face as I sagged in front of him. He must've sensed that there was more to this than I was telling, or that the prince himself even knew.

"He said there are still others on the tower..?" he left it open, providing me with a reason to reveal the cause of my apparently evident distress.

"My brother, sire," this time I managed no more than a hoarse whisper, tears causing his noble visage to swim before me. I did not, however, miss the way his pale face pinched.

"We will go after them," he vowed with mithril in his voice. "Azog's spawn and perhaps the monster himself may still be alive."

He turned back to the others.

"No!" I cried out, reaching out and grabbing his arm. He paused and looked back at me, eyebrow cocked questioningly. "Lord Dain sent us to protect you from Azog and his elites. There too many for us to fight alone, even if you take that dog out of the equation."

"What are you suggesting?" He looked at me with narrowed eyes as though he were unaccustomed to seeking advice outside of his ring of confidants.

"I-" I was saved from having to admit that I wanted to return to the main bulk of the fighting - thereby forcing Azog to approach us on our terms, on our chosen battlefield. If he lived, that was – by shrill shouting.

"Thorin? Thorin!"

"That is not a dwarf," I noted absently as I watched the strange little creature run towards. He was panting heavily and very nearly collapsed upon reaching us. The others obviously knew this peculiar, large-footed creature for they were watching him heave for breathe intently. He was gesticulating wildly but not able to get any words out past his strained breathing.

"Master Baggins!" the King exclaimed with far too many layers of emotion in his voice for me to be able to make them all out clearly. Relief was definitely evident as well as something a little more bitter.

"Bilbo!" The dark-haired prince rushed forward and slapped the odd, beardless creature across the shoulders boisterously, nearly knocking him to his knees. My eyes narrowed at this show of camaraderie. It was unusual for a dwarf of any kind to act this way around one outside of our race, no matter how close they may have been.

"Orcs!" the strange fellow gasped out. We all stilled, looking at this Bilbo Baggins with wide eyes. Obviously we all knew that there were plenty of orcs about, but his fear was contagious and all-encompassing.

I think that we all became painfully aware that there was something else seriously wrong. However, rather than any one of us taking the initiative and asking what in Durin's fine name this stranger was talking about we all just stood there rather dimly, looking perturbed and waiting for him to drop the catastrophic news we all knew was coming, I know that I, for instance, was simply unwilling to here one more iota of bad news. I mean, surely things couldn't go from bad to worse to really messed up to 'hello armagedon!'

I realised that I was staring at the grey stone beneath my boots - stone that was so alike and yet so different from my homeland – paying no attention whatsoever to my surroundings. That was probably not the best idea, especially when I knew for certain there were more enemies around somewhere. Where and when were the only questions we had yet to learn the answers to. My inattentiveness, as it was, almost caused me to completely miss whatever Mister Bilbo Baggins was saying. Strange, I couldn't remember ever being so distracted in all of my life. Perhaps it was because ordinarily I would have my brother there to jab me in the ribs or vice versa. No! Nope, not thinking of that. Focus, damn it all!

"That other pale orc?" Bilbo was saying, his hairless cheeks still sucking in and out as he spoke and panted at the same time. "He's Azog's _kid. _He's brought another army of orcs from some mountain in the North.

Gundabad," I gaped openly at the small man. He stared back at me in bewilderment.

"Y-yes. How did you know?" he asked. Honestly, I was more curious about how he had any of this information as well as how he got past the madness of the clashing armies, I did not think him to be a scout and he certainly wasn't a warrior despite the small blade strapped to his hip. I'm not saying I thought him to be a spy either, not really.

"There's no where else they could have amassed such numbers in secret aside from Moria and those orc battalions were decimated during the battle of Azanulbizar," The King said. My other thought was that an army of orcs wouldn't have been able to travel from the gates of Moria without _someone _noticing.

"Gundabad is to the north and north is –" the youngest prince of Durin's line tilted his head back to look at the sky and slowly turned on the spot, frowning at the overcast sky that cut out any indication of the sun's position. I touched his arm fleetingly and gestured North which was to the other side of the Lonely Mountain.

"Gandalf said that the orcs would have to go over Raven Hill…" Bilbo Baggins informed us and I felt a cold shiver race all the way down my spine.

"Thorin," The other dwarf, another stranger to me who was a large brute with an immense warhammer and a half-shaved, half-tattooed scalp, spoke. "They would come down directly behind our forces."

"They'd also possess all the high ground they could possible want," The youngest prince piped up again. "They could rain arrows down the almost the entire length of the valley with ease."

Everyone was silent for one very long moment, just letting the insanity of everything soak in. We had already been losing against one orc army. Now there were two? I chewed my lip, having a feeling that some cosmic force was already trying to reunite my dear brother and I. Only I didn't want to die, not yet. I wasn't finished in this world.

That was the first time, I think, that the truth really ever came together in my mind, hitting my like an avalanche of rocks.

My brother was _dead._

My brother was dead and I had let him die for a stranger, someone I'd never even seen before.

The earth suddenly disappeared from underneath my feet and I crashed towards the ground. Blackness washed over my vision, swamping me for a moment before dissipating like a morning mist.

_My brother…_

I shook my head vigorously, trying and failing to free it from such thoughts, though I did manage to get some small degree of control back over my body. I became aware that my body didn't hurt nearly enough for me to have hit the ground. Someone had grabbed me and was continuing to hold me upright.

"Are you alright?" someone asked for the second or third time in a matter of minutes, his masculine voice humming in my ear with genuine concern. I blinked slowly and his face swam into focus, right next to mine. I hurriedly shoved him away with a snarl, struggling to maintain my feet as I was suddenly alone in my attempt to defy gravity.

"Get away from me," I hissed, not having the emotional strength to yell no matter how much I may have wanted to. I just felt… empty. I couldn't even feel the vindictiveness that I portrayed. Something on my face, in my eyes, caused the blonde prince to recoil like he'd been physically struck.

"What is it?" the King asked, watching me with narrowed eyes. I must have looked quite the sight. "Are you injured?"

"Only in my heart," I replied coldly, blinking back the mist that rose in my eyes. As though on cue a pang of vicious pain shot through my heart. I grabbed at the offending organ, hanging onto the metal of my chest plate feebly and willing the pain to abate and quickly. It did, slowly, but the ghost of it lingered like a rotten smell. I straightened my shoulders and smoothed my face. A mask of indifference that I had never worn sliding into place easily. "I am fine now. What shall we do about these orcs?"

Dubious looks were cast at me from all around but no one commented on my momentary break down. I focused my eyes on the King, pushing everything else to the back of my mind and a moment later the others did too. When no one's gaze remained on me I took the opportunity to let out a shaky breath and slumped to one side slightly.

"The only thing we can do is warn Dain and pull the forces back to the main gate of Erebor. That way they won't be able to fire upon us from here," The King was saying and I willed myself to concentrate, to focus on the task at hand.

"They still outnumber us ten to one," The blonde prince said, attempting to stifle the despairing note in his voice. He shook his head sorrowfully, eyes downcast. I felt my eyebrows rise; after all that we had endured – and their company had challenged a dragon, of all things! – he was choosing to be a pessimist.

"No brother, look!" I squinted at the younger prince who had slipped away from us at some point with not a one of us noticing, his patience having waned. Or perhaps it was just me who hadn't noticed his departure, in which case it would be completely understandable.

Adhering to his brother's summons, the blonde prince raced over to the other who stood at the very edge of the hill, looking down over the battlefield and the great waves that must have been crashing bellow.

"Sweet Mahal!" he cried before turning to myself, King Thorin and the other dwarf with a broad grin on his face, his dimples creasing his cheeks. "Uncle, I think we're winning!"

I couldn't read the expressions on the other's faces for I was too busy running ahead of them to the edge of the hill.

Sure enough, there were our soldiers down below, formed in an immense, armoured ring that was constantly moving and adapting, each soldier moving to the centre of the ring to gain a few moments of respite in turn. There were several groups who had not managed to return to the bulk of the army, all of whom had sheer rock faces or Erebor's ruined gates at their backs. My fellows from the Iron Hills perhaps numbered over hald of the remaining orcs and were slaughtering more of the foul grey-skins every second with a savage proficiency.

Then there were the Great Eagles of course, who swooped low over the battlefield and grasped orc filth in the their talons and immense beaks, throwing them high into the air or stone or into their own forces. Something huge, furred and ruthless ploughed through the ranks of the orcs though I could not see exactly what manner of beast it was.

Who cared? We were actually _winning._

"We're winning," Bilbo Baggins echoed my exact sentiment breathily with a wonder-filled smile and a huge amount of relief that simply oozed from his being.

"So we are," King Thorin said, placing a hesitant hand on the little fellow's shoulder and shooting him a look that seemed so intensely apologetic that I felt embarrassed and ashamed for having witnessed it. But the strange little creature simply smiled at the King and it was such a wholesome smile, filled with goodness and forgiveness that I felt a pleasant wave of unidentifiable emotion wash through me.

Then a chilling shriek lanced through the air, freezing my heart solid in my chest.

There were goblins leering at us from the broken walls of the courtyard. The very same goblins that the eagles had routed and now they were backed by massive orcs. Gundabad orcs. They were each grinning, terrible, crooked grins filled with jagged fangs and surely it was for no good reason whatsoever. Then I saw that reason.

To take the path down from Raven Hill, to escape, we would have to get beyond the horde – nay, the _army – _of goblins and orcs that jeered fiendishly at us, rattling their weapons and armour in some kind of chilling death chant.

"That's not good," Mister Baggins gave a nervous little laugh as he realised that the path he had just ascended was now literally swarming with foul creatures keen on death and dismemberment. "Th- Thorin, what do we do?"

The beasts were advancing now, the twisted bodies of the goblins hopping and shuffling towards us with their malicious intent utterly and horrifyingly clear. The orcs lumbered behind, waiting for the fleet-footed goblins to rout us, to send us running. Then they would swoop in and destroy us. My mouth was dry, tasted like ash.

"Come on!" a gruff voice demanded and a large hand grabbed my forearm, yanking me backwards two steps before I finally managed to turn myself around and run under my own steam.

Only for the ground to vanish out from beneath me feet. Once again, I was falling spectacularly to my death. This was getting to be a bad habit.

~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~ ( ) ~

**Author's note:**

**Can I just say I love you guys and I love the title of this chapter? **

**Just as an interesting little factoid, the eagles are Beleram carrying Fili and Baranthor's father carrying Khayl. If you haven't played LOTR: War in the North then I doubt you know who they are. If you do know who they are then know that I have painted Beleram as very young here.**

**May I please beg, down on my hands and knees and kissing your feet most reverently, for a review? I haven't had any in so very long. :)**


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